


Variations

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Episode Related, Gap Filler, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-13
Updated: 2004-05-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 02:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12071379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: A episode #216 gap filler.  It occurs after Brian and Justin leave Benâ€™s party, but before the next day when we see Brianâ€™s contemplate the flowers and Justin chair dancing in the loft alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Holy Fuck. I can’t believe Ben just did that. Brian’s done some shitty things to me, the hustler today, that was a new low. But fuck, that’s just Brian. Ben just humiliated Michael, crushed him, in front of all of these people after all that hard work. God, that sucks. I feel so bad for him. The walking wounded, he looks like he could cry or punch someone. Oh shit, Debbie just made a comment about Ben being the guy who’s supposed to be good for her son. Fuck. She’s really going to hate Ben now. I didn’t think Michael could look more hurt but when Debbie’s words hit his ears I thought he might die. I wish I could help him, wish I could reach out. We’re closer than we were just a few weeks ago, but I don’t know if we’re there yet. I don’t think he’d welcome my consolations.

I elbow Brian in the side to go see if Mikey’s okay. He rolls his eyes at me and I raise mine in turn. Saying to him, without speaking, get your ass over there and help your best friend pick up the pieces of his broken heart. The apartment is clearing out and I look around to survey the untouched food, the unopened alcohol bottles, the undrunk guests. Everyone is gathering their coats, taking their unwrapped gifts and heading for the door. I look across the room to see Brian’s hand on Michael’s shoulder; I’m relieved that Brian is going to actually help Mikey tonight. Maybe he knows he’s fucked up bad enough today already. Maybe he realized that ordering me a hooker from hotdicks.com was NOT the birthday surprise I had in mind. Maybe in his own sick and twisted way he thought that was a good idea. Maybe he hasn’t thought about it at all.

Lindsey and Melanie brush past me, both with that 'Oh-god-you-poor-baby' look on their faces. I should have never mentioned the hustler to them. As if they don’t give Brian enough shit about the way he treats me. Of course, has any of it made a difference thus far? Not a bit. Why should I care if they harass him? Someone should. It certainly isn’t me anymore. I used to be able to stand up to him, but lately I’m walking on broken glass and my feet ache and I have no idea why. I nurse these wounds day after day, rewrap the cuts and walk all over it some more. I don’t know what my problem is; I can’t believe I slept with that mail order fuck. Whatever, it’s over. Brian thinks he made me happy, thinks he did something nice. Sex is a great gift in Brian’s mind. He thought a first class orgasm would be better than any fucking bouquet of flowers. In theory I can’t blame him. I just wish he knew that all I wanted was him to say, "Happy Birthday Justin." That’s all I needed. I’d rather have had him wrapped up in that red ribbon. Then the smile on my face wouldn’t have been forced, the moans coming out of my mouth wouldn’t have been fake, the look of ecstasy on my face wouldn’t have been contrived. I would have meant it all.

Lindsey gets to the door and says over her shoulder, "Justin, do you want a ride home?" She shifts her eyes to look toward Mikey and Brian as they stand very exclusively in the corner. I realize there’s no point in me waiting for Brian. Michael could whine about what just happened all night, and I don’t blame him. I grab my jacket and brush past Brian giving him an 'I’ll-be-waiting-for-you-at-the-loft' stare and he nods in acknowledgment. I head out the door and follow Linds and Mel to their car. Riding quietly in the back seat I ever so softly hum the bit of Ethan’s piece I can remember from this afternoon, and I begin to think what he must be like.

Ethan’s attractive, that’s obvious to anyone with eyes and taste. He’s incredibly talented. He's passionate about what he does. He’s straightforward and honest. He’s captivating and alluring and sexy as hell. I’d bet he’s incredibly intelligent, but smart too. There’s a difference. I bet he’s amazing in bed, the way his fingers move across the strings of his violin. The way those fingers could move across each inch of my body. I get a chill at the thought. The physical reaction to my daydreaming makes me stop. I shake my head a little; hoping the thoughts of Ethan will slide out of it. I am suddenly guilt ridden by the places I’ve just let my mind wander. And I’m not even sure why. Lindsay begins to speak and I silently give thanks for the distraction.

"Justin, do you want to talk about it…" I catch her eye in the rearview mirror and know immediately that she’s referring to my joke of a birthday gift. I shake my head a little and look down, "No. I’m fine. Forget I said anything. He was hot. It was Brian’s way of celebratinWe pull up to the curb in front of our building and I swing open the car door. Sticking my head up between the seats I quickly give each woman a kiss on the cheek. They each smiley warmly in response and wish me Happy Birthday, again. They’d each said it a thousand times today and while I appreciated it each time it was a sullen reminder of whom I hadn’t heard it from. The only person whose lips I wanted to utter those words probably never will. "Anyone can get born," he told Ted. Celebrations are for accomplishments. Well fuck me, but being alive is an accomplishment. Making it this far, surviving the bashing, being healthy and on my way to making something of myself. God, why can’t I tell Brian that? Why can’t I say all the things I feel? Instead I conceded, I told everyone I agreed with him. Birthdays are bullshit, a sentimental ritual not worthy of recognition. I make myself sick sometimes the way I bend and shift to be the person I think Brian wants me to be. And I don’t even know who that is anymore, or who I am anymore.

"God, I’d like to kick that little fuckers ass…" Melanie’s words start as a whisper under her breath but build up to more of a shout. Lindsey gives her a pleading side-glance that says please shut up. Melanie clenches her jaw and I know she’s struggling not to say a lot more. Lindsey plasters on a fake smile and says forcefully, "Okay sweetheart, well if you change your mind, you know where you can find us." I nod again. Then I sigh and settle back into my seat for the rest of the ride back to the loft. Thoughts of what a life with Brian will be like for me fill my head. 

As always he is a paradox wrapped in a mystery and I can’t seem to figure him out. Attempting it only makes our tangled web even harder to navigate. And I’ve already lost so much strength breaking down Brian’s walls. I don’t know how I can spend my life continuing this way. One day I’ll have to stop chasing Brian and start looking out for me. One day I’ll have to start listening to my head sometimes, not always my heart. One day I’ll have to stop making fucking excuses for Brian and telling myself the truth about what’s happening right in front of me. I know he loves me. I’ve spent a year and half convincing myself. And now that I’m sure, now that I’ve spent so much time invested in making that discovery I’ve accidentally uncovered something else, the realization that love isn’t always enough.


	2. Variations

I force a sheepish smile to these women, these wonderful women who are helping raise me in their own way. I step out onto the curb and tip my head back to look the six stories up to the top of the building where our windows peer out over the street. Every light in the loft is off, the darkness pours from the windows and only expounds my sadness. I can’t go in there; I can’t be alone in there. Not yet. I’ll want to wash the sheets and clean away the day and try to forget everything that happened. I can’t deal with that yet. Turning to wave at Mel and Linds as they drive away I wait until they turn the corner before I do an about-face and begin to head up the block, away from the building. 

The cool night air might give me a cold, I’m not really dressed for a brisk walk. But the stuffy nose will be a welcome replacement to my impending feelings of doom. I have so much to think about and so much to work out and so much to contemplate. My head spins as my feet lift up and down, moving me aimlessly around Pittsburgh. I can’t help but think about all of the shitty things Brian has done. But I try to counter each of those thoughts with one of something wonderful he has done. Initially I match them blow for blow. Okay so he fucked up royally today with the hustler, but he changed the entire landscape of his life to let me move in with him. So he’s never actually told me he loved me, but he shows me all the time. He can be a cold, heartless shit, but he wants me to be the best version of myself that I possibly can be. Brian breaks me down and confuses me and leaves me wounded and torn, but he picks me up and makes me glow and assures me every thing is going to be alright. I don’t know why I need any more from him than that, but somehow I do. I need him to show me he needs me. I need him to show me he wants me, not just for sex, but for all the rest of it. And I guess if I’m honest, if I really look inside, I need to hear it. I hate admitting that, it is like this weakness in me. But I want him to look me in the eye and tell me that he loves me. I hate that I can’t be satisfied with just knowing it, I have been for so long but I really, really need to hear it. It isn’t about the words exactly, it’s about what it would take for Brian to say them. 

I sit on a bench at the park about ten blocks from the loft, where my body has led me. I look at the empty swings and am reminded of the times we’ve brought Gus here to play. I think about what it would be like if Brian and I raised a child. I laugh out loud at the thought. Gus is as close as Brian will ever want to get to raising one. What if I wanted my own? Am I thinking too far ahead, are these things I should even consider? Will Brian and I even make it past tomorrow? I want to believe that what I feel for him is extraordinary. I want to believe that what we have comes along only once, so you grab hold of it and never let go. But, if that’s all true, if this is as good as it gets, well then I should be sad. I want it to be better than this. I want romance and dancing and flowers and candles and dinner and vacations and I love you's. Even if he hates it all, if it’s what I need…I give him so much.

Beginning my return to the loft I start to think about Ethan again. What if I dated Ethan, or someone like him, what would my life be like? We’d probably be monogamous. We’d probably go on dates. I bet he’d tell me he loved me without hesitation. I bet he’d claim me without thinking twice. He’d introduce me as his boyfriend, he’d be proud that I belonged to him. I bet I would meet his family. I bet that he would meet mine. I bet we could stay home at night and cook together and rent movies. I bet that we could stay in bed all day on Sunday and read the paper in between incredible sessions of lovemaking. 

A smile creeps across my face as these thoughts of a blissful existence fill my mind. I find myself punching in the building code at the door on the bottom floor and prying it open. I enter the elevator, slamming the wooden grate down and pushing the button for our floor. I lean against the back wall for support, rolling my head back and forth over the cold wall. I need to shake these thoughts away from me. A shiver runs up my body and I will them to leave me be. I love Brian. I work hard at loving him. I want this to work. I need to forget about Ethan.

The lift screeches to a halt and I lose my footing a little prying the gate up and exiting. I slide my key in the door and right before I slide it open I stop to better hear the familiar noise coming from within. Is that what I think it is? I look around as if there is an answer in the hallway. I stare at the door again and then finish unlocking it and send it flying to the side. A single lamp is on an Ethan’s soft violin fills the apartment. For a moment my heart stops, until I see the CD player is on. Of course, Ethan doesn’t even know where I live. Why would he be here? Why would I even think that?

"Brian?" I call very cautiously. I am still very much confused by what I’ve come home to. I didn’t at all expect him to be here. His voice comes from the bedroom, "Where were you?"

"I took a walk. Why are you home? I thought you’d be out with Michael." I shed my jacket and gloves and move closer the CD player. I stand in front of it, staring at the speakers, soaking in the beautiful music.

"Well I’m not. Come in here." The first sentence is said with Brian’s ever-annoyed air, but the second is softer, it catches my attention. I suddenly realize that it was odd he was listening to Ethan’s CD at all. It’s odd he’s home. It’s odd he gives a shit where I was. I start to head toward the bedroom with the intention of figuring out what the hell he’s up to.

When I start up the stares my eyes get wide and my feet stop under me. I draw in a deep breath as I let my eyes soak in what is taking place before me. Brian is lying in the middle of the bed, completely naked, holding a bottle of champagne. There are a dozen white candles on the floor around the bed, filling the room with a warm, yellow glow. It is a stark contrast the usual cool blue light that radiates from the neon bulbs on the wall behind the bed. The change is nice. And I mean that about more than just the candles. 

I sigh and bite my lower lip and will myself not to cry. It isn’t huge. There aren’t roses, no wrapped gift. But, it’s enough…for now. It’s Brian telling me that the he knows he fucked up. He knows all I wanted was him. And I’ll take it, I’ll take this, and I’ll cling to it. I need to. He smiles up at me, satisfied with my reaction. Lifting one hand from the champagne bottle he curls his finger toward me. Willing me to come toward him. And I do, losing my clothes with every step. I’m naked by the time I reach the bed and I kneel onto the mattress and wiggle toward him a little. He sits up and I sit down. Our knees touch and he takes a long swig from the bottle. "Good shit," a little dribbles from his lip and I lurch out and lick it up his chin to his lips and kiss him. I pull back and he adds, "Stole it from Ben’s party. I don’t think Mikey will be needing it." I don’t even mind that he took it from Ben’s party. All I care is that he had the forethought to take it. He hands me the bottle and I accept it. He watches me grip it and tilt it into the air, letting the cool bubbly sweet liquid pour into my throat. He knows he’s done a good thing, and all I can see on his face is satisfaction.


	3. Variations

We drink more and kiss more and for the moment I am happy. The scent of vanilla, from the candles, fills the room. At some point the champagne starts to go to my head and I lie back on the bed. Brian puts the bottle aside and rolls on to me. Kissing my neck and kissing my collarbone and my shoulders and my chest. I love the warmth of his lips and little bit of stickiness left on his tongue from the champagne. His hand finds my crotch and he starts to stroke me. I moan out into his mouth. But his mouth covers mine and is unrelenting and won’t let the noise escape. His tongue delves deeper into my mouth. I run my hands over his long, lean, smooth back. He grinds on top of me and I love the slow rhythm that we find, even though we’re not fucking yet. I let little whimpers escape my lips as his mouth goes trailing down my body again. I’m trying to concentrate on what he’s doing to me, but for whatever reason my mind stars to wander. 

Birthdays always do this to me, make me overanalyze and under appreciate and rethink so many things. I start to wonder if I should be this happy over a stolen bottle of champagne and the candles that were up in the closet. I start to wonder why it is too much to ask for him to simply wish me a Happy Birthday. Contemplating the fact that my dick is already throbbing and I know if I say what I want to then there probably won’t be any fucking tonight so I sit up. I push him off of me a little. Assuming, wrongly, that I just want time to play Brian lets me push him and gets ready for me to pounce. Then he sees the dissatisfied look on my face and the smile fades from his eyes. 

Slightly drunk, "Why should I take this and relish it and love you for having fucking stolen a bottle of champagne and lit some fucking candles?" It comes out much more harshly than I’d imagined.

"Oh, I’m sorry, the pomp and circumstance were going to come after the sex. I thought we’d fly to Paris later for your star-studded surprise party." His reply is so caustic and off-the-cuff that it only makes me angrier with him, and thus more able to say what I really want to.

"A hustler, you got me a fucking hustler. And now you are trying to make up for that grave error in judgment with this half-assed attempt at romance. Like you even know what it is."

His eyes are wild with anger now, "Fuck you. He was hot, and you weren’t balking at him while you were fucking his brains out. I’m sorry if it wasn’t up to your birthday standards. I don’t know why I even tried." He pushes himself up off the bed, letting out a grunt, and grabs the bottle of champagne from the nightstand. His dick now only semi-erect he stands straight up and tips the bottle back to his lips. Finishing it completely some of the champagne escapes his mouth and runs down his chin and onto his chest. He looks down at it and laughs, but there is nothing humorous about the situation.

"God Brian, I just need for you to give a shit. To tell me you give a shit. I don’t understand why you don’t get that. I didn’t need some fucking stranger in my bed on my birthday. All I wanted was you. All I wanted was for you to wish me a Happy Birthday. It’s all I fucking needed. Don’t you get that? Don’t you understand me by now?"

Beginning to walk out of the room in classic Brian-escapist fashion, "Obviously I don’t understand you Justin, and you don’t understand me. Let’s just fucking forget it all, shall we?" He waves his hand in the air with an annoying air of nonchalance and heads to the kitchen. I jump up to follow him, I’m on a roll. I don’t often muster the courage to tell Brian Kinney what I think of him these days but thanks to my noncelebratory mood and half a bottle of champagne I am going to finish what I’ve started.

"Fuck you Brian. You still don’t hear what I’m saying. All I’m trying to do is tell you what I want. What I need from you is very little. And you can’t even give me that."

He huffs in disapproval, "What, all you wanted was for me to tell you was Happy Birthday? Well Happy fucking Birthday Sunshine. May all your dreams come true." The words are so sarcastic they slap me harder than his hand possibly could. My face falls in defeat and I turn away from him. No part of me wants to look at him right now. Padding back across the loft I climb up the steps and into the bed. I pull the sheets and comforter up tight to my chin. 

A moment later I can hear him the bathroom, running the sink, probably brushing his teeth. He slides in bed next to me and turns his back toward mine. We’re only a few feet apart but it feels like miles. I check the clock and see that it’s two minutes to midnight. I have 120 seconds left of my 19th birthday. I sigh as my eyes well up with tears. What am I doing here? Why am I putting myself through this? Is he ever going to be what I need him to be? Are we ever going to be what I want us to be? I can’t ask him to change anymore than he already has. But I can’t keep asking myself to change for him.

The thoughts swirl in my head, the questions blend and mix and the words twist and turn and I can’t remember right from wrong or good from bad or love from hate. I cry into my pillow, hoping to god my body isn’t shaking hard enough for him to sense what I’m doing. But then, in a way, I want him to know. To have some idea of what he’s done to me. On the one fucking day a year the people that love you should make you feel special, he’s made me feel like absolute shit. Breathing in deep, long breaths I try to stop my chest from heaving and stop the tears from falling. Suddenly Ethan’s violin fills the loft. Each note drifts on the air and I wonder if I’m imaging it. Then I realize it is quite real, the CD has come back on. I start to turn over and I can sense Brian is doing the same. We each rotate 180 degrees and our faces sit just inches apart. The sweet sound of the violin lingering on the air is the only thing between us. I search his eyes for an apology, but I’m not finding one. I hear Ethan’s sonata begin to quicken its pace, and my heartbeat does the same. We continue to stare and I continue to listen. 

Brian’s lips drop open, as if he has something to say. I hold my breath and wait. Then his jaw clicks back together. He thought better of it. That’s so Brian, always keeping quiet when I need him to talk the most. I can think of a thousand things I want to say to him right now, but not one of them comes out of my mouth. Please love me, please tell me that, please ask me to stay with you forever, tell me you’d die without me. Cry because you hurt me, cry because you hurt us, scream and shout at how fucked up your life has been. Beg for my help and I’ll give it to you. Ask for my life and it’s yours. But he won’t. Not any of it. He can’t. He doesn’t know how. I used to think I could teach him. But, I’m not so sure anymore. It seems we are bound to run variations on this theme, this fight, this imitation of a relationship until one of us puts a stop to it. I just never thought it would have to be me.


End file.
